I am not entirely sure if I’ve been dumped, but all evidence seems to be pointing that way: the calls aren’t returned, the emails stopped coming, not to mention that it appears he has a new Facebook Fling. We shared some great times, and we made plans for the future, and then he took my heart and wound it through a meat grinder and made some pretty typical blood sausage out of the whole ordeal. So I have one question: what’s the best torture to exact on him: tweezing out every single hair from his body while making him listen to me sing Andrea Bocelli’s classic wailer “Time to Say Goodbye” in the original Italian, or should I rig for his brakes to fail in his godforsaken hometown and he can plunge off a cliff while listening to Tom Petty’s “Free Falling?”

And, what’s the best bottle of wine on the current market for me to drown my sorrows in?

I love America. I’m maverick-y. I was born with a vagina and I wear lipstick. I firmly believe that Sarah Palin is the right choice for me. However, my husband, per the Bible’s instruction, doesn’t allow me to have opinions. Is it right for me to share my feelings with him, or should I just shut my mouth if I know what’s good for me?

Thank you —

*Subservient in Saginaw

First of all – I’m sad that the first person to write into AFUT calling themselves subservient isn’t the right kind of subservient, Subservient. I thought this was going to be an email about safety words. (I prefer “Portnoy,” though “Michael Chabon” is good also, though tough to pronounce around a ball gag.)

Secondly – You’re making it difficult for me to decide who’s the bigger idiot, SiS. It appears the dynamic you and your husband have could keep a team of psychiatrists, progressive Christian marriage counselors, pollsters and anthropologists flush with cash during these tough times. You owe it to yourself, your husband and the American economy to sit him down and start talking about how you really feel about the Alaskan governor. And pray that the Lord forgives you for your disobedience.

-Unk.

]]>https://advicefromuncleted.wordpress.com/2008/10/24/michael-chabon-is-tough-to-pronounce-around-a-ball-gag/feed/2Theo“Luke. I know you like to go down on marsupials. Search your feelings. You know it to be true.”https://advicefromuncleted.wordpress.com/2008/10/23/luke-i-know-you-like-to-go-down-on-marsupials-search-your-feelings-you-know-it-to-be-true/
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Dear Uncle Ted:

I have two roommates whom I hate. They’re messy, inconsiderate–basically they have their heads up their asses. I’m leaving the country in a few weeks, but not before I teach them a lesson. Any suggestions?

Look. You’re better than this. I know it seems like vengeance is the answer, and I’m sure your assessment of them is accurate – but that doesn’t mean you should stoop to their level at this point. Who knows. Your last night out with them in Australia – at a dinner that they will probably be too cheap to chip in for – might lead to some beer-enabled apologies and revelations. And perhaps, even a renewed friendship.

But if they manage to f*ck that up, at least wait until you’re on your way home. I mean, you should definitely wait until you’re at a cash-paid internet kiosk at the airport before hacking their Google email accounts to send Photoshopped pictures of themselves performing fellatio on wallabies with the subject line “Here are the images you requested” to all the elementary school children in your former neighborhood. And you should DEFINITELY wait until you’re state-side before calling an anonymous tip into the Australian Federal Police about how your roommates – your stinky, non-dishwashing, curry-take-out-tray-leaving, drunk-footballer-stealing tw*t roommates – were running a bestiality porno ring in your laundry room, unbeknownst to you until the morning of your departure.

Make sure you call from a public phone. And disguise your voice with one of those Darth Vader voice changer thingies. And make sure to send them some Tim-Tams while they’re doing 10 long in the pokey.

-Unk.

P.S. I’m guessing it won’t be hard to figure out those Gmail passwords. They’ve gotta be something easy for that pair of dingo’s balls to remember. I’d try “fosters” or “crikey” or “paulhogan” or “valtrex.”

Canadians will ride into the next battle for freedom on the back of a horse called Rascal, Elizabeth. Your obvious opposition to them and the patriots that ride them is clearly the result of your inability to see the future – the glorious, seven-and-a-half mile-per-hour future of your country. The sooner you stow your prejudices in the conveniently mounted basket behind your fully adjustable chair, the happier you’ll be.

-Unk.

]]>https://advicefromuncleted.wordpress.com/2008/10/15/vrooooooom/feed/0TheoI know no amount of Burger King gift certificates can ever make up for what I did to your dog.https://advicefromuncleted.wordpress.com/2008/10/13/i-know-no-amount-of-burger-king-gift-certificates-can-ever-make-up-for-what-i-did-to-your-dog/
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Dear Uncle Ted,

Is it ever too late to say you’re sorry?

– Grace Simplot, Murfreesboro, Tenn.

Uncle Ted certainly hopes not. The occasional lapse into discussing himself in the third person is just one of the many regret-worthy ignominies Uncle Ted has racked up during his 56 years here on planet Earth. He wishes he could find every mime he’s punched, every ninja assassin he’s double-crossed, every Polynesian princess he’s jilted and beg their forgiveness.

Unfortunately, Grace, sometimes it IS too late. The sister who stole your high school boyfriend? The one who went on to build a perfect life with the perfect guy who should’ve been yours? She could suffer a fatal (albeit, deserved) allergic reaction to Botox before you get a chance to apologize for the laxative brownies you fed her the afternoon before prom.

If you think there are wrongs that you, personally, need to right, my advice is this:

Build a list of all the folks you’ve ever screwed over. If you (or most of the people on your list) are about to die, restrict entry to the list to apologies that would be part of a good Lifetime movie denouement. If you’re just bored or have entered a 12-step program, a spreadsheet or database program may be needed to manage the information. I use Excel.

Sort the apologees by age, heinousness of acts perpetrated, and length of time from when you last told them or they last told you to go f*ck yourself. (This not only prioritizes your efforts, but will most likely yield one or two initial apologies to a senior, or dementia sufferer. It’s a good way to begin, since, odds are, they’ve forgotten all about it. It’s a good way to ease into your penitence-fest.)

Bring the list to a travel agent, who will arrange a cross-country itinerary. (Tip on planning: I wouldn’t try to combine this trip with any family vacations. Explanations to your spouse about why you have to drive three hours out of the way from Disneyland just so you can give an aging prostitute a cash-filled envelope might be awkward, at best.)

Take three weeks off of work and get to amends-makin’. Three weeks should be plenty of time for the average 46-year-old American asshole to get the high-priority apologies out of the way. (Uncle Ted plans to take a five-month sabbatical, but only because he has to go to Tibet.)

I hope I’ve been helpful, Grace. I also hope you’ve never stolen any Tibetan religious artifacts. Just because they’re Buddhist doesn’t mean they’re not going to try to kick your ass once they see you again.

Where the hell have you been, Google Mail Goggles? I haven't been able to go anywhere near Leah Rimini or her dog since 2002.

Dear Uncle Ted,

What do you think about the new Mail Goggles feature from Google Mail?

– Norris Chucksworth, Nome-Ridicolo, FL

Norris – This is, without question, the greatest single innovation in email since the emoticon. Who knows how many tears cried, hearts broken, jobs lost and restraining orders issued could have been saved if only it had come along sooner?

For those of you who haven’t heard yet, the premise is simple: during certain hours of the week (oh, say, in the wee hours of Friday and Saturday nights) whenever you, a Mail Goggles-enabled user, tries to send a pig-latin love sonnet to that cute account executive you were flirting with over lemon drop shots at the bar at the Marriott, Gmail responds with this message in a pop-up window:

“It’s that time of day. Gmail aims to help you in many ways. Are you sure you want to send this? Answer some simple math problems to verify.”

A timer begins counting down, and if you don’t take some deep breaths, slap yourself a few times, squint at the screen and do some adding and subtracting – all within 60 seconds – you’re prompted to try again. And, if the account exec was particularly charming, most likely again and again – until you realize the minor indignity of being told by an email program that you’re too f*cked up to type or do simple sums is nothing when compared to your co-workers asking you on Monday if you’re still eeply-day in-way ove-lay.

To be honest – I don’t think the questions are NEARLY hard enough. The really determined, enamored drunk will figure out, after a few tries, that a calculator at the ready is the only thing standing between him or her and truly mortifying embarrassment. Maybe some truly difficult questions are in order, Google Labs developers? Like:

Has your whole adult life been a lie?

Do you eat like you do because you don’t have anything else good in your life?

Do you think God knows what you did to that sheep and is still punishing you for it, all these years later?

Are the voices still telling you to kill Mrs. Schwartz?

Have you stored the plastic explosive in a cool, dry, non-conductive container?

Sobering questions like these will keep bad poetry out of our outboxes, Google-Peeps. Think about it.

-Unk.

]]>https://advicefromuncleted.wordpress.com/2008/10/08/37-19-one-reason-why-uncle-ted-likes-google-mail/feed/1TheoWhere the hell were you in 1999, Google Mail Goggles? Now I cant go anywhere near Leah Rimini. Or her dog.“So we’ll kiss now and get it over with, and then we’ll go eat. We’ll digest our food better.”https://advicefromuncleted.wordpress.com/2008/10/06/so-well-kiss-now-and-get-it-over-with-and-then-well-go-eat-well-digest-our-food-better/
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Dear Uncle Ted,

My name is Angela and I’m in the 4th grade. I think this boy in class likes me but I can’t tell for sure. I was wondering if you can tell me how I can tell if a boy likes me.

Angela Pierce, Rochester, MN

Oh, Angela. Boys your age are just beginning to get interested in girls, and they’re just as nervous about this sort of stuff as you are. You may hear from your friends that the boy or the boy’s friends have been asking about you at school. But don’t listen to them. You wait. You wait and you wait. He may send you emails. He may try to talk to you in a chat room. He may send you notes in class, or slip them into your locker. He may have flowers or large parcels of your favorite candy sent to your house. He may even talk his parents into spending his college fund on getting the Jonas Brothers to sing you a love song on your front lawn.

But until you get three consecutive, unequivocally positive responses from your cootie-catcher, I’d say the private concert and the Nintendo Wii purchased with three years’ worth of lawn-mowing money are just empty gestures.

And don’t just keep picking even numbers. For true love, you’ve gotta be willing to take risks.

I’m sorry, Miz McGee – I’m too busy right now to answer your letter with the attention it deserves, what with all the praying that those lobster-huggers get their message through…and the application process for the position of Ben and Jerry’s Director of Procurement.

Please, little baby Jesus. Hear. My. Prayer.

-Unk.

]]>https://advicefromuncleted.wordpress.com/2008/09/26/i-always-wanted-to-be-a-dairy-farmer/feed/2TheoThis is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. And tort reform.https://advicefromuncleted.wordpress.com/2008/09/24/this-is-the-dawning-of-the-age-of-aquarius-and-tort-reform/
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Dear Uncle Ted:

The last week has sucked. My bike got stolen, my phone died, someone hit my car and I dropped my ice cream in the midle of the street (mocha java fudge chip!!!!! ghaaa!) Someone told me this is because Mercury is in Retrograde. I want to know – can I sue Mercury? Or should I just punch the guy who told me so in the nose?

Sincerely,

*Princess Me

Blaming the astrologer is not the way to go here, Princess. He was only doing his job. Unfortunately, bringing a civil suit against a planet is extremely difficult – though not completely unheard of:

In George Fredericks vs. Mars, the Red Planet is said to have perniciously dropped out of Leo, thus causing Mr. Fredericks’ budding romance at the time to self-destruct. Mars’ lawyers argued that Mr. Fredericks should have planned the timing of his romantic entanglements better, seeing as Mars’ orbit does not deviate, and can be computed with reasonable accuracy thousands of years into the future. Character witnesses – two ex-girlfriends – testified to Mr. Fredericks’ deficiencies as a lover. The suit was ruled in favor of the defendant.

In the events leading up to Angela Trilinikis vs. Jupiter, the plaintiff is said to have based her purchase of a used Chrysler minivan on the gas giant rising into Taurus. When the vehicle broke down a week later, Ms. Trilinikis filed suit. The planet’s lawyers’ motion for a change of venue to Cerus – a dwarf planet within the asteroid belt – was granted. Proceedings are scheduled to begin shortly after human settlement of the Jovian system is established.

In a non-astrology related case, Brittany Salerno vs. Saturn, arguments over paternity testing were rendered moot when Ms. Salerno prematurely gave birth to a moon. The two parties currently share custody.

I’ve got a patient who, when unconscious, frenzily produces auto-written short stories in the style of Norman Mailer, while also presenting numbness in the left arm and leg, fever, impending kidney failure, low white cell count and tachycardia. Any thoughts on a diagnosis?

– G.H., Princeton, N.J.

Greg – Come on, now – you’re a world-famous doctor. Isn’t it clear what you’re up against? I would check the patient’s residence for evidence of voodoo rituals, including animal sacrifice. Also, check for bake pans hammered into the shape of the author’s head. If my hunch is correct, the patient is steeping pages from The Naked and the Dead in chicken blood, and then baking that blood into soul-channeling pastries made with extremely fattening butter and shortening. Testing should reveal partially-saddled arterial blockages along with mycotoxicosis probably contracted from avian fecal matter. I would begin a regimen of anti-coagulants and anti-fungals immediately. I’d also call an exorcist. Or an agent, if the patient is channeling from Mailer’s early work.

Is the video for Don Henley’s “The Boys of Summer” a treatise on the difficulty of confronting aging and loss, or a Proustian lament for a distant summer fling?

G.F., Los Angeles, CA

GF – I think Don Henley and director Jean-Baptiste Mondino were trying to tell us several things in 1984, one of which being: installing film projection screens into the walls of your house may seem like a cool idea, but they get boring fast.

Even screens placed serendipitously in alleys aren’t much of a draw. I mean, Don Henley backs away from his own face. Who does that?

Like many videos of the era (such as Young MC’s Bust A Move and Tone Loc’s Wild Thing) Summer bears a moral at its center. And that moral is: You will get tired of looking at a beach.

Dear IM – You ask the impossible. People have been arguing this point for the last twenty-one years. This question is old enough to go into a bar and get into a drunken argument about itself. Asking me to choose one great bit out of this movie is like trying to pick a self-righteous jackass out of a Nader rally. I mean, we’ve got:

“She doesn’t get eaten by the eels at this time.”

or

“You can die too for all I care!”

or

“Why do you wear a mask? Were you burned by acid, or something like that?’“Oh no, it’s just that they’re terribly comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the future.”

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

and

“We are men of action. Lies do not become us.”

and

“Do you want me to send you back to where you were? Unemployed! In Greenland!”

AND

“Go away or I’ll call the Brute Squad.”“I’m on the Brute Squad.”“You ARE the Brute Squad.”

But I have to agree with my friend Whiskey Eileen, who puts this up for consideration:

“We face each other as God intended. Sportsmanlike. No tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone.”
“You mean, you’ll put down your rock and I’ll put down my sword, and we’ll try and kill each other like civilized people?”

And then, of course, immediately afterwards:

“It’s not my fault being the biggest and the strongest. I don’t even exercise.”

and

“Ev-we-body Moooooooooooooooove!”

and

“Your true love lives! And you marry another. True Love saved her in the Fire Swamp, and she treated it like garbage. And that’s what she is, the Queen of Refuse. So bow down to her if you want, bow to her! Bow to the Queen of Slime, the Queen of Filth, the Queen of Putrescence. Boo. Boo. Rubbish. Filth. Slime. Muck. BOO. BOO. BOO!”

and, of COURSE:

“Drop. Your. Sword.”

But in a way, this argument is beside the point. Because you already know the answer, IM. And so does Whiskey Eileen. The fact is: Mandy Patinkin will die one day, and the first line from his obit will not read “Mandy Patinkin, esteemed film, television and stage actor and performer, succumbed to excessive awesomeness at the age of too soon.”

It will say – well – you don’t need to see it here, do you?

And in a way, I think what comes after Inigo finally gets to say it to the man he’s been meaning to say it to is even better:

“Offer me money.”
“Yes!”
“Power too promise that!”
“All that I have and more. Please.”
“Offer me everything I ask for.”
“Anything you want.”
“I want my father back, you son of a bitch.”

I’m gonna add that to my Netflix queue right now, IM.

-Unk.

P.S. William Goldman is a PIMP. All the President’s Men, Butch Cassidy, Marathon Man AND The Princess Bride. P to the I to the M to the motherf*cking P.

Are you worried that the experiments being conducted at the Large Hadron Collider at CERN could result in the destruction of the earth?

– S.H., Oxford, England

I’m as cool as a cucumber, SH.

Proof of the existence of the Higgs Boson, or “God Particle,” is something that the physicists at CERN in Geneva will be actively pursuing when the LHC starts smashing stuff on October 21st. Now, understand – flinging protons at each other at the speed of light is, even within the controlled environment of the LHC, slightly dangerous. Proponents of the project have admitted that there is a possibility that teeny-weeny black holes could begin to form once collision experiments begin – but they’ve also argued that said black holes will dissipate harmlessly, since they will most likely emit more energy than they consume.

I want to believe these guys, since I believe that science, which has brought us the Space Shuttle and instant ramen, is a fundamentally good thing. But thanks to an apocalyptic Baptist upbringing, the idea of a rapidly accreting man-made singularity quietly sucking France and Switzerland into its gaping maw sounds exactly like the sort of thing God would do to a species that allowed Flavor of Love and I Love New York to be shown to children.

I know a lot of Americans, especially ones from the middle, would like nothing better than to see a bunch of French folks get sucked into a cosmic garbage disposal. I’d like to remind them that the Swiss – those innocent makers of fine chocolates and watches – would suffer the same fate. And eventually, the black hole would end up destroying America – almost as quickly as the homosexual agenda and a Democrat in the White House would.

So why am I not worried, SH? Uncle Ted has planned for this scenario.

Every single scientist at LHC and CERN should be receiving copies of the collected box sets of Stargate SG-1 and Stargate Atlantis, due to arrive October 20th, the day before LHC is scheduled to begin experiments. That Habitrail for uber-nerds won’t be running right for weeks. It should give the Marines enough time to sneak into Geneva and fill that gigundo ring with packing peanuts and bits of dead mackerel. By the time they get that place cleaned out and smelling right, Lost will have started up again. By then, thoughts of God Particles and muon detectors will be replaced by more important questions, such as: how the F*CK did they move that island?

Maggie – I think she hit a home run. Her stance on gun control, reproductive rights, family values – what’s not to love? She was so wonderful, with her thin, watery delivery and her bland yet infuriating distortion of the Democratic platform. I like her so much, I’m holding a fundraiser for the GOP in the backyard this weekend! You should come on down! I’ll be inviting the local NRA chapter, some anti-abortion activists, and Levi Johnston. We’ll be shooting a bison with an XM8 automatic assault rifle and roasting it on a spit while hearing from our Minutemen friends about how Mexicans are creeping across the border and eating our children and the elderly and sucking the blood out of our dogs and cats. Like vampires. Deportable, non-English-speaking vampires.

Yes. Come on down to Uncle Ted’s house this weekend. Have some fun. Drink some beer. But make sure to leave before the “cake” arrives. It’s going to be like one of those bachelor-party things you see in old sitcoms, except instead of strippers, it’ll be filled with frosting-covered Brady-Campaign-To-Prevent-Gun-Violence/Planned-Parenthood-trained Samurai, who will make short work of the right-wingers in attendance slowed down by the Corona and the bison steaks. Anyone left alive will be treated to a reading from Dreams of My Father, followed by ice cream.

AJTSIAS, one part of me wants to commend him for his willingness to sacrifice the goodwill of his former party for what he believes in. Another part of me wants to break a 2-by-4 across his pelvis for lending his support to a 137-year-old hypocrite who chose a whore-mongering moose-rapist as a running mate after following the failed ideals of his party rightward in a cynical pursuit of the White House.

What I’m trying to say, AJTSIAS, is: I’m torn. Joe’s not a bad guy. But one has to wonder if he’s been waiting out filibusters in an alcove near the Senate chamber, huffing bags of taxpayer-subsidized diesel.

Where have you gone, Joe?

-Unk.

P.S. I’d like to apologize for calling Gov. Palin a whore-monger. It’s an unfair and wholly reprehensible characterization. She did the best she could. Her daughter’s business is none of ours.

P.P.S. That being said, I’d like that girl’s phone number. Once she’s had that idiot hockey player’s baby, I get the feeling she’s gonna want something more stable. You know. With an older dude. Rrrrrowr.

Mary – since Jesus’ last known address would place him in Jerusalem – and seeing as there’s a pretty significant amount of evidence that the man would, upon his return, head towards Israel, it would make His political inclinations and party affiliation as it relates to American politics somewhat beside the point.

It should be noted, however, that the Vatican is currently investigating a claim by state-side Catholics that every time Barack opens his bible, cashier’s checks made out to “Obama For America” fall out of it.